


I've got my (thousand) eyes on you

by PandaFlower



Category: Naruto
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Elementary Teachers AU, Gratuitous Use of Googly Eyes, Mentions of Tobirama/Gengetsu because I'm building this boat, Mito as Ma'am getting shit done and therefore too busy to appear, Tongue in cheek references to canon, Unintentional Halloween Party prep, Uzushi0 Halloween Prompts, waging the least subtle passive aggressive war with your boss ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 08:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16322435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaFlower/pseuds/PandaFlower
Summary: It was that time of year again.That time of the year when teachers grimly dug out the box of garish holiday decorations, and smiled with varying degrees of sincerity as children presented hand-crafted glittery bat after shiny pumpkin after glue-sticky black cat to be taped to desks and hung on the wall.And this year? This year it was personal.





	I've got my (thousand) eyes on you

It was that time of year again.

That time of the year when teachers grimly dug out the box of garish holiday decorations, and smiled with varying degrees of sincerity as children presented hand-crafted glittery bat after shiny pumpkin after glue-sticky black cat to be taped to desks and hung on the wall.

That time of year where heavy gourds were produced for the children to make messes with and end up propped in corners like slowly rotting fire hazards if they couldn’t be foisted on the parents quickly enough.

That time of year where they, the teachers, were contractually obliged through money and the principal’s disappointed face to hike children up on glitter and sugar without their parents nearby to foist them on.

And this year? This year it was _personal._

This year, the vice-principal had redirected funds from the elementary art programs for his precious sport programs in their sister middle school for the last time.

This year, Uchiha Madara would _pay._

Hashirama couldn’t stop them this time. Too many people knew where he slept.

It’s with these thoughts in mind that Tobirama passes around a bag of supplies and a list to his eager fifth graders with the grim solemnity of a drill sergeant arming new recruits. The weapons of choice are numerous, insidious, and _diabolical._ Were it not for purposes of dire revenge long coming he would never have allowed such things to fall into the hands of children he was responsible for.

It couldn’t be helped.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Wow, look at the size of this glitter!” Koharu exclaimed, turning to show her friend Chiyo who grinned maliciously over a garland of mini skeletons. A death knell if ever Tobirama heard one in all his years as a teacher.

A death knell he was prepared to point in one direction.

“Alright, children!” Tobirama clapped to get their attention. “You have a bag and a list each. Within that bag are your weapons of choice, and on that list is your marching orders.” He let his gaze sweep the room, meeting the eyes of each now solemn child he has nurtured to perfection. “As you know, the art club’s request for additional funding has been denied once again in favor of sports programs for our sister middle school.”

Dissatisfied groaning made a round around the room.

Tobirama nodded. “Yes. This is _unacceptable._ Do we just take this lying down?”

“ _No!_ ” The children chorused.

“No, we don’t!” Tobirama pounded on his desk for emphasis. “We do not take this lying down. As we did not last year, and the year before that. If it’s a war Madara wants then it’s a war he’ll get! And we’ll _bring it to his doorstep if we have too!_ ”

Kagami raised a hesitant hand.

“Yes, Kagami, you can still be nice to your Uncle,” Tobirama sighed, rolling his eyes. “And _no,_ not one of you lot are allowed to give him grief over it. We’re not dividing families here people, this is strictly a professional feud. Got that?”

“Got it!” They chorused dutifully.

“And, because I like making things difficult for everyone, but mostly myself,” Tobirama reached under his desk and pulled out several containers of holiday themed cookies, “I am prepared to load you up on sugar as a reward for partaking in this vengeance. How’s that sound?”

The cheering was deafening, save for one desk where a hesitant hand was being raised.

“Yes, Homura, I got you gluten-free.” Tobirama rolled his eyes. As if he would be so neglectful as to forget.

Homura cheered.

“Are you ready then?” Tobirama demanded, and his wonderful little monsters thundered their agreement. “ _Then let’s go!_ ”

There was a mad scramble as children grabbed bags and lists and raced out the door, mad giggling trailing in their wake. Tobirama walked calmly to the door, gazing out at the destruction already taking place in the hall.

“Godspeed, you little devils,” he murmured, then doubled back to grab his own bag. There were some places it was considered irresponsible to let children build scaffolding to reach. And he was paid by the hour to be a responsible child minder, is he not? Obviously that meant working his way down the foyer hall with a ladder dug out of a storage closet, stretching ghostly white and glowing green cobwebs across the ceiling with a generous helping of spiders. Since they were all in the same hall it definitely counting as supervising.

Meanwhile, his delightful little monsters were hanging all manner of garland on the walls with the aid of a stool and a good helping of tape, sticking various sizes of sharingan and rinnegan googly eyes on any flat surface — and those googly eyes in particular were money well spent to Tobirama’s mind — and tossing glitter everywhere else. It was a madhouse.

It was _glorious._

The other teachers would be taking their students out in turns to do the same thing; taking over the school one hostilely decorated hallway at a time. For whatever reason Izuna never adequately explained, Madara hated holiday decorations with the burning heat of a thousand blue giant stars. In the meantime, Tobirama was fully prepared to shove them in his face until he stopped being an asshole about their art funding.

The Christmas decorations were going up _obscenely early_ this year, see if he didn’t. He would hate every second of it but he’d do it.

Madara’s rage would make it worth the sacrifice.

Eventually.

“Saru, stop sticking eyes on Danzo! That’s not what they’re for!”

* * *

Madara’s coworkers were out to kill him, he just knew it. He could feel them plotting all the way from the middle school. His nice, _sane_ middle school that felt itself above holiday decorations and smearing glue on any and every surface up to and including his hair, mind you. Just the way he liked it.

How Hashirama stood it he’d never know.

Actually, scratch that, how _Izuna_ stood it he’d really never know. Hashirama only saw glue-stained projects after they dried, Izuna was right in the thick of hordes of tiny, sticky-handed munchkins and his hair was almost as long as Madara’s!

It was witchcraft is what it was. Pure black magic.

It was the only reasonable explanation he could think of.

He stared at the front doors of Konoha Elementary, inwardly dreading the traipse to his office, already anticipating the horrors within, the horrors without, just. _The horrors._ Honestly, he hoped his coworkers choked on a holiday cookie. The awful, bland, sugar encrusted kind that turned to cloying sweetness in your mouth and dyed your tongue.

 _Okay, okay, deep breaths,_ Madara told himself, squaring his shoulders against the shudders with difficulty. _It’s like ripping off a bandaid. A gauze you slapped on a wound without any antibacterial slick so now it’s stuck._

This metaphor was maybe getting a little bit away from him but he maintained the accuracy was only increasing.

Gods, he hated the holidays.

Okay, okay, he’s dithered long enough. Shoulders back, gaze focused, and whatever he did, absolutely do not look around lest he be blinded by the overly commercialized crap invading his school. How to survive his coworkers in three easy steps.

Step three failed the instant he opened the door and blindly walked into a dangling spider at _suspiciously exact_ face height. He may have screamed. He may have screamed more when beyond the spider lay a literal hanging minefield of _more spiders._ Why. Why would they do this. Some of the teachers were taller than him!

How did they even have the time.

This place was pristine when he left literally this morning! _This morning!_

He couldn’t even see the ceiling anymore through the damn cobwebs! He shuddered in revulsion, looking to the side reflexively only to squeak at the sheer amount of _googly eyes_ plastered to the wall. Oh god, _they were everywhere._ Staring at him from all sides.

Judging him.

Madara shuddered again, a noise akin to a goat dying in agony escaping his mouth, and he ducked his head and bolted down the hall. Thankfully the Spider Hellscape was limited to the foyer. Even more thankfully, his office was just off the foyer in a tiny hallway that _seemed_ untouched, his door adjacent to Hashirama’s who was sporting one of those tacky, gel, window decorations that always seemed to melt when you looked away from them.

The green witch had her mouth stretched in a cackle. Laughing at him just like the rest of the universe.

Typical.

His own door had been similarly defiled with ghosts, of all the indignities. Madara ground his teeth, barely holding on to the urge to brave the rest of the school to shake the perpetrator out of hiding and rattle their teeth for the audacity. But he refrained. That wasn’t the kind of behavior that was acceptable in front of children, however tempting it was to have it out right now.

Restraining the urge went right out the window when wrenching the door open revealed an Izuna in suspiciously good spirits perched on his desk. An Izuna surrounded by miniature pumpkins, of all blasted things.

Izuna was about to have a pumpkin lobbed at his head. See if he still liked them then.

“Madara!” Izuna said brightly. “Do you like what I’ve done with your office? I kept it lowkey, ‘cause I know you’re sensitive, but I thought, surely some generic fall trimmings would be more to your liking.”

Madara gestured mechanically at the door with its damning, not at all fall generic, ghosts.

“Oh, yes,” Izuna nodded, “that’s to match Hashirama’s door. I know outward solidarity is an important image for you to project, being his right hand man and all, and I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of any parents that might visit. Plus, this saves you the time and effort to decorate yourself, since I know you always procrastinate to the last second, being so busy and all with — how did you put it? — laying the foundation for future sports scholarships to increase college attendance? Something inane like that.” That grin could have chewed glass.

“What.” Madara bit out. “Do you want.” _And more importantly, what would it take to get you out of my office?_

“What, can’t a man visit his _dear_ brother during lunch break?” Izuna grinned wider. “That’s so hurtful. I’m hurt. C’mon, Madara, you know lunch time is the only time I can beg someone else to watch my brood for, like, five minutes so I can come check on you, see how you’re doing—”

“Snoop through my paperwork, more like,” Madara interrupted crankily, squinting in aggravation at what was clearly Izuna’s Patented Diversion Tactic #5: Word Deluge Until Target Forgets Up From Down. Well, that wasn’t going to work on him! He remembered when this stupid tactic was a prototype and marginally more annoying! “Cough it up. What is it now?”

Izuna dropped the creepy, cheery grin, cocking his head thoughtfully. “Oh, just the same thing it’s always been. Y’know, just a little generosity. Some understanding as to my situation here. Some paltry sympathy for your favorite brother—”

“I’m not authorizing funds for more art supplies than you already have.” Madara interrupted before Izuna could build any more momentum. Again.

Izuna dropped his cool.

“Please!” Izuna lunged forward to grab his lapels, eyes widened plaintively. “I got twenty little monsters in one room with me, _one_ room, Madara! I need those art supplies! I wanna live!”

Madara set a finger in the middle of Izuna’s forehead and pushed until his head arched back and he had no choice but to step back. “I think you’re being a little hasty here, Izuna. Art isn’t the be all, end all of keeping children occupied during free time.”

“Ha! Shows what you know!” Izuna snapped, rubbing his forehead. “You’re cooped up in this quiet office while I—”

“An extra ten minutes of recess,” Madara offered, a bubble of sly satisfaction growing behind his teeth.

Izuna froze. Paled. Visibly wrestled with indecision.

“N-no,” he managed weakly. “That’s just playing to your agenda. I won’t buy it.”

Madara leaned forward, arms folded, eyebrows raised. “An extra ten minutes on the playground to run themselves out of excess energy. Get some more sunshine and fresh air. I hear it’s important to child development.”

Izuna made a distressed noise.

Madara smiled. “What’s it going to be; yes, or no?”

* * *

Izuna trudged back into the cafeteria, listless and hollow-eyed, defeated. Mechanically, he took up his customary spot where he could best keep on eye on his pack of five year olds, absently nodding a thanks to Shamon, his fellow kindergartner teacher, who nodded back.

Touka flopped down on his other side, a pirate’s tricorn perched jauntily on her head. “So, did he crack?” She asked eagerly, bloodthirsty. “Did he _cry?_ Oh, I hope he cried.” Tobirama diverted his patrol around the room to saunter over to the teacher’s table, also curious.

Izuna prayed for mercy.

“No,” he mumbled, curling forward to hide his face in his hands.

“ _What._ ” Touka said, like the snapping of mercy, and restraint, and Izuna’s life line beneath the scissors of fate.

“I could have sworn you just said that all this effort has come to naught,” Shamon mused, foot tapping idly on the linoleum. “Do correct me, if that’s wrong.”

Izuna shrank in his seat, sincerely regretting ever volunteering to ambush Madara in his office. They should have sent Mito, or Touka, or hell, Tobirama if they didn’t mind collateral damage to the office itself! _They were going to kill him for this._

“Izuna.” Tobirama rumbled threateningly. “Explain.”

Izuna reluctantly uncurled, dredging up the courage to at least face his death on his feet, as it were. “It was going so well at first. I had him off guard, on the back foot. He was rattled, shaken. _shook,_ no idea what what was going on, and then…” His heart beat double time at the memory. “ _He ate my heart in the playground._ ”

A beat. Children talking and laughing briefly rose in crescendo and subsided just as quickly. When it became apparent Izuna would say no more Tobirama made a noise of disgust and said what they were all thinking. “Something comprehensible, please?”

Goodbye, cruel world, it was nice while Izuna had known you.

“He…” Izuna gulped. “He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” Then he closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see death coming.

“Izuna!” Tobirama barked. “You spineless sell-out!”

“I know,” he said miserably. “But it’s ten extra minutes at the playground.” He turned to his fellow kindergarten teacher. “Shamon, back me up, you know how important that is for kids!”

Shamon gave him a long look. “Izuna,” he said at last, “if I don’t get the funds to replace my entire kit of ancient play-doh, I will respectfully encourage Deidara’s parents to transfer him to your class.”

Izuna sucked in a horrified gasp so hard he choked on it. Touka shoved him off the bench, still disgusted with him.

“Nice fudging going, you fudger,” Touka growled, somehow managing to make kiddie swears sound appropriately ominous. “Should have known you’d give ground to your brother when it counted.”

“Um,” a tentative voice interrupted them, “are you guys bullying Izuna-sensei?” Izuna peeled his face off the floor to see a little blonde kindergartener blinked big, innocent blues eyes at them, then dropped his head with a groan.

Touka cooed. “Of course not, sweetie, this school has a very strict no bullying policy. Izuna’s just getting what’s coming to him.”

“Oh, okay!” A bright grin and then the girl was hollering over her shoulder. “I TOLD YOU I WASN’T BULLYING YOU, SHIKAMARU! YOU’RE JUST A WUSS!” She turned back and gave a cute little wave. “Good luck, Izuna-sensei!”

“That’s Ino,” Izuna sighed as she skipped away, completely unsurprised. “She rules the class with an iron fist under a veneer of cute.” He could _feel_ Touka’s grin, the terrifying drama witch that she was.

“Wuss,” She snorted. “I can’t wait to have her in my class. Also, we’re going to kill you slowly for this. Watch your back.”

“I would just like to reassure everyone that all is not lost,” Izuna said, still sprawled face down on the floor. “We may get our concessions yet.”

“Oh?” Tobirama asked, foot tapping irritably.

Prudently, Izuna scrambled back up onto the bench before that foot could get any closer to his hair. “Yes. Because not only has Madara _not_ seen the rest of the school yet, I plastered the entirety of his private bathroom with those freaky sharingan googly eyes.”

“His bathroom,” Shamon repeated carefully, bottom lip wobbling ever so subtly.

“With _glue dots,_ ” Izuna added with relish. “So really, it’s more like I lured him into a false sense of security.”

Touka hooted with laughter, quickly growing into a full on cackle. Izuna grinned as her face turned red and tears trickled down her face as the seconds ticked by. Yeah, he’s still got it. Children nearby turned their heads to look over curiously, and the three of them motioned for them to go back to what they were doing while Touka still cackled breathlessly.

“You’re right, Izuna,” Tobirama grinned savagely. “This is salvageable.”

“We just need to get the right negotiator in to provide the right leverage,” Shamon said with an agreeing nod. “He can’t hold out on us forever. A solid foundation in art is just as important for a well rounded education as sports, and the scholarship opportunities just as valid.”

Izuna cast a considering eye out over the cafeteria, picking out and discarding candidates. Obviously, he was now out of the running as too easily bought, galling as that was. Shamon had lobbed a cup of paint water at Madara’s face one time and was thus no longer on speaking terms with him. He chanced a glance at Touka, who was finally starting to take deep breaths in an effort to calm herself.

Hmm, Touka might be able to pull it off but she’d probably terrify Madara enough to make using her a one time deal.

Hikaku over in the corner was beginning the process of chivvying his six years to hurry with their lunch, which, ha, good luck to him. That used to be _Izuna’s_ batch of troublemakers and he can already see Gai winding Kakashi up to make a challenge of finishing their lunches, and if no one stopped them they’d be making a trip to the infirmary for upset stomachs. Hikaku was obviously not a good choice to throw at Madara either, he was too much of a soft touch.

Izuna swept his considering gaze back to Tobirama, who frowned back him.

“Hey, Tobirama,” Izuna began, knowing this might be a terrible idea. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, seducing it out of him?”

Shamon choked. Touka burst into laughter all over again.

“Excuse me?” Tobirama asked, dangerously even.

“Well, I mean, didn’t you two use to, um,” Izuna cleared his throat meaningfully, conscious of little ears, “in the closets?”

Tobirama narrowed his eyes. “I tried to strangle him in a closet once, does that count?”

“No,” Izuna and Shamon chorused to Touka’s emphatic, “ _Yes._ ”

Tobirama pinched the bridge of his nose. “For your information, _moron,_ I’m taken. Gengetsu would object to me flirting with my boss, even if it’s for a higher cause. And if I could contain my urge to murder said boss in the first place.”

“Who’s Gengetsu?” Izuna asked, unable to place the name.

Tobirama sighed. “Marine biologist? Clam conservationist? Works at the local aquarium? I know you’ve met, I introduced you to him.”

“Wait, you’re dating him?!” Izuna yelped. “I thought you just cozied up to him to wrangle that field trip to the aquarium for the kiddies out of him!”

“Izuna.” Oh wow, that tone was so even Izuna felt an instinctive fear of drowning just hearing it.

“Ye-es?” Izuna tried for a charming smile.

“I’m removing a gold star from your chart.” Tobirama glared viciously.

“Ah, fuck.”

Instantly, the nearby children gasped in shock and no little glee.

“Make that two stars.”

* * *

Hashirama had been enjoying a wonderfully peaceful day.

Sure, he’d been riding the edge of creeping dread that small children being quiet for far too long brought on, but otherwise a wonderfully peaceful day. He’d gotten so much, uh, he peeked at his to-do box, towering in stark contrast to his empty done box. Well he’d gotten _some_ work done, and in the words of optimists and recovering procrastinators everywhere; some was better than none at all!

Would that fly with literally any member of his faculty after a long day of herding children? No, no it wouldn’t.

In fact, the fourth grade teacher, A the First — not to be confused with A the Second who worked at the middle school, or A the Third who was in Tobirama’s fifth grade class, or A the Fourth who was in Touka’s third grade class — would personally tattle on him to every member of his kin in this school, _starting with his own daughter._

Tsunade was so precious but she certainly inherited a good dose of evil from somewhere.

Not that Hashirama would ever say that out loud or even think it near certain persons lest they somehow pluck that thought from the ether and plot revenge.

There was already enough revenge plotting going on in this establishment anyhow, Hashirama was just thankful Madara was such a handy revenge magnet— ahem! He meant outspoken friend. Yeah. He’d get nowhere without Madara’s willingness to draw other’s ire if he felt ruffling some feathers was necessary to getting the work done.

As if thinking of the man set off an alarm Madara’s dulcet shrieking could be heard from his office even now. _Huh,_ Hashirama thought, eyes darting to his unfinished paperwork guiltily, _I wonder what that’s about._

Hashirama poked his nose outside his door, curious. Hearing the noise coming from within Madara’s office he meandered over to poke his nose cautiously through that door too, taking a moment to coo at the little ghosts, and then the little pumpkins scattered about. How cute, Madara was getting into the holiday spirit!

Honestly, he thought Madara would never recover from that time an eleven year old him had convinced a then ten year old Madara to sneak into a thirteen and up haunted house with him.

The shrieking seemed to be coming from Madara’s bathroom, and here Hashirama hesitated a moment before figuring, hey, it’s not like he has anything Hashirama hasn’t seen before. Literally. He knocked, just to say he did in case Madara yelled at him, then pushed the door open.

Madara had the grave misfortune of trying to wrench the door open at the same time and consequently bounced it off his face. And then he bounced off the floor. Hashirama winced. Then he was wincing some more as he got a look at the bathroom.

Every square inch of the room, barring most of the floor, had been plastered with sharingan googly eyes of all shapes and sizes. Staring from all sides of the room. Eyes on the mirror, eyes on the ceiling, eyes on the paper towel dispenser, eyes on the _toilet_ frighteningly enough. Not even the soap bottle had been spared.

“Hashirama!” Madara snapped, scrambling past with a sense of urgency he wouldn’t forgive Hashirama for noticing. “This has gone too far! Do something about your crackpot employees before I go looking for new ones!”

“Ah, well, I admit this is a bit, uh,” Hashirama glanced around the room, the sheer amount of eyes growing creepier the longer he looked, “ _a bit overzealous,_ but we can’t punish the whole for the actions of the one. I’ve been reliably informed that’s against the Geneva convention.”

Reliably informed via a fifth grade class staging a revolt after dealing with Byakuren’s hidebound tendencies a day too many.

Hashirama urged the old man to retire after that.

“Oh, I know which _one_ did this is!” Madara snarled, a little crazy eyed if Hashirama were pressed. “I caught Izuna in my office earlier, doing that!” He pointed viciously at the various tiny pumpkins scattered about his office. “I should have known the little brat was too easily bought off!”

“Okay, so I’ll talk to Izuna—” Hashirama squeaked in alarm when Madara shook him by the lapels.

“ _They’re all in on it!_ ”

“I’m pretty sure they’re not—” Hashirama tried only for Madara to bury his face in his hands and scream.

“Yes, yes, they are,” Madara manages after a moment of some heavy breathing and nearly inaudible counting, jaw flexing. Hashirama is so proud of him for remembering his breathing exercises. “Have you _seen_ what the did to the halls?”

“Ah, I was in my office all day,” Hashirama admitted sheepishly, as well he should be. A principal shouldn’t be so isolated from his faculty and the students. “I had that important phone conference today and it ran overlong. But hey, it’s lunch time! You can show me!”

Madara grumbled something that sounded like, “Oh, I’ll _show_ you,” to Hashirama’s ears. Hashirama went easily when Madara grabbed his elbow and dragged him out of the office and down the small side hall back to the foyer where they both promptly ran into a faceful of spiders.

There may have been some embarrassing high pitched noises and flailing at that.

“Okay.” Hashirama said blandly, poking a plastic spider, “I can concede the foyer was also decorated a little, uh, _overzealously,_ I mean come on, parents might see this!”

“Oh, _parents,_ that’s your priority?” Madara growled. “How about these morons having way too much free time on their hands if this is what they get up to unsupervised? I mean, just look what they did to the walls!” He added, flinging a hand out.

Hashirama cringed at the presence of yet more googly eyes. Where did they even get so many? “There’s certainly something to be said for their...enthusiasm.” And because he was almost as curious as Tobirama in some ways, he meandered down the hall to see what else his faculty put up.

Coming to the T-junction at the end of the hall he found the left hall full of artificial fog, and the right hall closed off by a literal curtain of fake skeletons. Hashirama blinked dumbly. Was that a curtain rod or a shower rod? Did they even make shower rods that long? Deciding to brave the fog later he poked the skeletons aside enough to see past them and beheld the corn stalks, the jack-o-lanterns, the black and orange glitter—  

_The blood red footprints tracked down the hall._

Hashirama dearly hoped those were stickers.

Behind him Madara made a strangled noise that rose up into a plaintive whine.

Now that was curious, and promised much hilarity. Leaving the skeleton curtain where it was, he turned to see Madara staring at the ceiling through the weak wisps of fog curling up. Little fake bats had been affixed to the ceiling by their feet in haphazard rows; curled ones, unfurled ones, all of them cute. Hashirama cooed. Madara glared impotently at them.

Walking into the fog revealed other details, like the white webs covering the walls that leant well to the illusion of the fog and the sheet ghosts also hanging from the ceiling here and there. Foam gravestones of various sizes, shapes, and puns,.were propped against the walls with paper cutouts of iron grating, and green glitter as if to suggest grass.

All in all, actually fairly impressive to accomplish before lunch time.

Saying such to his vice-principal just garnered him a dirty look. Oh well, Hashirama would just be appreciative enough for the both of them.

And that’s when Itama _appears_ out of the fog like an actual apparition and takes a good half decade off of him and Madara both, singularly alarmed by the resultant shrieking.

“Itama!” Hashirama swept forward to catch him in a hug. “On your way to lunch too? Look what the other’s did, they’re very festive this year.”

“I...see that,” Itama said, dubious. “Also a safety hazard. I turned the fog machine off, it should dissipate soonish. And yes,” he added, “I’m going to the cafeteria. Hikaku called me to take some munchkins off his hands after they got a little carried away.”

“A little carried away describes the entirety of this school,” Madara griped.

Hashirama hummed, amused. “Are you including—”

“I said what I said.”

* * *

If the cafeteria doors being thrown open so hard they bounced off the walls wasn’t indicative of Madara’s mood, Tobirama would declare himself blind and hand in his driver’s license. Madara was definitely losing a gold star for inappropriate expressions of temper in front of children, they’d talked about this! They had a very long, semi-boring meeting about stricter standards of conduct after the Byakuren Revolt!

Madara stood in the open doorway, the light of the cafeteria casting his shadow upon the wall behind him arms still cast out, head bowed and teeth bared. A perfect picture of dramatic high dudgeon, straight out of a terrible movie.

It was a testament to how often it happened that most of the children above first grade completely dismissed it beyond the initial startlement.

Then Hashirama did what Hashirama did best and took the wind out of his sails by popping out from under his arm with a bright, cheery smile. “I saw what you did to the hallways! They look awesome!”

Madara’s arm snapped down to grab him in a headlock and a short scuffle broke out between them.

Tobirama rolled his eyes, allowing himself a slight smile as Itama took the opportunity to slink past while the two idiots were distracted, shooting him a look that begged for some sympathy. Hikaku hurried to meet him, speaking softly enough Tobirama couldn’t hear him over the dull roar of the cafeteria, even if he could guess the subject well enough; the two groaning six year old slumped at the teacher’s table, green in the face.

Itama approached with a wry smile, and two small water bottles. “Hey, guys. And Touka.” He set the bottles in front of the children. “Here you are, a bit of alka-seltzer ought to help. _No competitions_ this time.” Gai pouted immediately. Kakashi made a pointed show of sipping, obviously offended.

“What’s with this ‘and Touka’ business?” Touka propped her chin on her fist lazily. “Don’t I count as one of the guys?” Hikaku about-faced at that, abruptly deciding he has things to do. Elsewhere. Pressing things.

Itama squinted at her, pointing. “That is a loaded question and I refuse to answer.” She smirked.

“Smart of you,” Tobirama remarked, amused.

“Yes, yes, he’s more sensible than the lot of us put together. I mean, obviously,” Izuna waved, dismissive. “Come _on,_ pull up a seat and give us the details! How much did Madara freak?” After a second. “Pretty please?”

Tobirama rolled his eyes again, but gestured invitingly to the spot across from him all the same. He _was_ curious. And Itama could explain the results of the campaign _without_ the dramatics that accompanied Madara or their brother.

Itama sighed in amused disgust, taking his time to settle in comfortably just so next to Izuna on the bench, accepting a welcome peck on the cheek.

“Well?” Touka demanded. “Has he gotten the message yet or do we need to step up our game? Because I am perfectly willing to step up my game.”

“Touka, if we stepped up our game any further we’d have to charge for tickets.” Tobirama huffed. Honestly, the school was practically a kid friendly haunted house.

Itama nodded. “What he said. It’s— you really went all out, out there. Pretty sure I just heard more inarticulate noise out of Madara watching him react to the decorating than the entirety of our acquaintanceship.”

“Which is saying something,” Izuna remarked, shifting to press closer to Itama’s side. “He didn’t make anything but inarticulate noises at us for almost a week when we told him we were dating.”

“Yeah, anyway—”

“Hey, everyone! I have an announcement to make!” At some point Hashirama had escaped his vice-principal’s clutches and climbed up on a table. “I know there’s been some upset about the art budget—” Tobirama snorted. Understatement. “But I let Madara co-opt it this year because I had a plan! Mrs. Mito and I sold our rare collection of Bijuu sculptures at a local fundraiser and we’ve raised more than enough cash to supplement the art budget for the next two years, easy. So if you could all stop picking on Madara over the budget that would be really cool of you! Thank you, and enjoy your day.” He ended with a decisive nod.

There was a long moment of silence, the kind where you could drop a pin and chastise it for being noisy.

Touka stood up, hands on her hips. “Do we have to take down all that sh-stuff then?”

Hashirama gamely clambered back onto the table. “Thank you for reminding me, Touka! In honor of our fundraising success, and the exuberance of our teachers in getting into the holiday spirit, we’re going to throw a party tomorrow! Ice cream for everyone!”

The cheers were deafening.

From the children that is.

Tobirama sat, stunned. How dare Hashirama stick them all with sugared up children?! That was— that was _Tobirama’s_ favored tactic! Unless— That bastard was punishing them for upsetting his vice-principal. It had to be!

Then Danzo had the temerity to raise one googly eye covered arm. Tobirama despaired at the amount of eyes his friends had stuck on him in general.  “Can we wear costumes?”

Hashirama beamed. “Absolutely!”

“As long as it’s not that one,” Madara interjected.

“Wear any costume you want!”

“What did I just say—!”

“Okay,” Tobirama narrowed his eyes. “New plan. Revenge on Hashirama.”

“Agreed.” His coworkers chorused.

 


End file.
